Sophisticated Lady
by mincepie
Summary: The year is 1941. When Meredith is found murdered, Detective Derek Shepherd is determined to find out 'whodunit'...
1. The year is 1941

**I don't really have a lot to say, except that I hope you bear with me on this one. I know, I know – I killed Meredith. If you can get over that and just embrace what happens, you might actually enjoy it… :**

The year is 1941. I shall never forget the weekend Meredith died. The rain showered across Seattle with relentless contempt, thunder rumbling in the distance and lightning sporadically illuminating the obscured city. For Meredith's horrifying death, I was alone. I, Richard Webber, was the only person who truly knew her.

It is now Sunday evening and I had just begun to write Meredith's story, an autobiography if you will, when there was a persistent rap at my door. I finished typing my sentence, pondering momentarily to conclude the aptness of my wording, indifferent to the uninvited visitor on my doorstep. Finally, I graced the guest with my presence. A detective. His face was familiar to me for some reason. Shepherd I think he said his name was, although it did not ring a bell.

He isn't a particularly tall man, only average in height. He is however, blessed with good looks. His dark curls frame his tanned face perfectly and those cerulean eyes have surely broken a heart or two in the past. He has a calm demeanour; almost friendly, evident by the small smile he gives me as he steps into my apartment and explains that he is from the Homicide Bureau. Shepherd is investigating the murder of Meredith Grey, a close friend of mine and the frequent object of my affection.


	2. Richard Webber

"You have a nice place here," the detective comments idly as he removes his overcoat and hat.

"It's lavish, but I call it home," Webber replies pertinently, walking through into his living room and pouring himself some bourbon from a crystal decanter. He turns to the detective and holds up the decanter in offering.

"What is it?" Shepherd questions.

"Double scotch, single malt," the man answers as though the quality of his preferred alcoholic beverage need not be questioned. Shepherd simply nods and he fills the second tumbler as the detective gazes around the room, taking in the décor that includes a glass cabinet of priceless _objets d'art_, an oriental statue and an antique baroque grandfather clock, which takes pride of place on the far wall of the room.

The chiming of said clock announces the half-hour. Webber fails to take much notice. However, the intrigued detective steps forwards, his attention fixated on the antique. He is only roused when Webber calls his name. Shepherd looks up at him before taking the offered drink, clinking his glass with Webber's and tasting the amber liquid.

Taking a seat on the couch, which is encased in burgundy velvet, Webber gestures for the detective to join him. Shepherd sits across from Webber on an identical couch, placing his glass on the small mahogany table that is situated between the two men.

Conversation moves on to the victim, Meredith Grey, and Webber stands once more, exiting the room for a moment before returning with a piece of paper, his statement, which he proceeds to read aloud.

"Yesterday morning, I was questioned by Sergeants O'Malley and Bailey. And I stated: On Friday evening, Meredith and I had a dinner engagement, after which she was going out of town. She phoned and cancelled our engagement at around six o'clock. After that…"

"You ate alone and then returned to your study," Shepherd finishes, perfectly aware of the man's statement. "Why did you write it down? Afraid you might forget it?" he questions.

"Mr Shepherd, I am the most widely misquoted man in America," he says, offering the ramifications of his occupation as a cynical society columnist as an explanation for his script. "I find it intolerable in others, but a man must protect his own, wouldn't you agree?"

Shepherd dismisses the comment, nodding noncommittally in reply to Webber's question and takes another drink of his whisky. Webber suddenly remembers why the detective's face is so familiar.

"The Siege of Blue Ridge," he states, mimicking Shepherd's actions and picking up his own glass. "The gangster with a machine gun who killed three policemen. I told the story over the air. Wrote a column about it, even. Are you the one who walked right in and got him?"

The detective simply smirks and takes another sip of the bitter beverage. "You have a good memory, Mr Webber."

Conversation continues similarly for the next hour or so and Shepherd concludes that Webber cannot shed much light on the murder of Miss Grey. The detective does however, question Mr Webber about a column he wrote three years earlier about a past murder with the same _modus operandi_ as this case.

"You wrote that Baskerville was killed with a shotgun loaded with buckshot, the same way Meredith Grey was murdered, the night before last."

"I did?"

"You did," Shepherd says. "But he was actually killed with mouse poison."

"Well, my version was obviously superior, I forget my source from that particular case. I never bother with details."

"I do," replies the detective succinctly.

Detective Shepherd soon leaves the luxurious apartment, his opinions gathered. Murder is Webber's 'favourite crime' and he writes about it regularly. The renowned columnist has insisted on helping the detective in his assigned investigation, even though he is a suspect. Webber is pleased and flattered to be considered a suspect in the murder enquiry. "To have overlooked me would have been an insult" he tells Shepherd as the detective finishes his drink and makes his exit.


	3. A list of suspects

The hour is late as Derek Shepherd sits alone in his office. His sense of isolation is increased by the Venetian blinds that hang against each of the two windows, enclosing the already small room. He sits at his desk, the case file of Meredith Grey lying before him on the oak table.

Atop the various notes, that have been made throughout the investigation, rests a recent photograph of the deceased. The detective cannot help but feel downcast as he focuses on the beautiful woman in the picture. He feels a great sense of sadness at the loss of such a life, for this woman nearly had it all; a stunning figure, a timeless face, a successful career and an assortment of friends. She was also to be married the next week.

Shepherd flicks through the other photographs in the folder, skipping those of the crime scene. He does not want to see this woman's corpse. He does not want to think about the fact that she had to be identified by her clothing because there was simply nothing left of her exquisite face to distinguish.

Weary, the detective sits back in his leather chair and lets out a colossal sigh. He reaches for the draw in his desk and opens it, pulling out a glass and a flask of something strong. Filling the glass, Shepherd screws the lid back onto the flask and downs the liquid in one, savouring the burning in his throat. He then replaces the items in the draw and selects a cigarette from the packet on his desk. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag before exhaling and encircling himself in a cloud of smoke.

The evening draws on and Shepherd thinks back to his visit to Richard Webber, the man who claims to have known the victim better than anyone else; who refers to himself as Miss Grey's 'confidant'. The detective finds this bizarre, as surely her fiancé would know her better than a mere friend? Or even a family member? He decides that he does not have enough evidence to clear Mr Webber from his investigation, and as the clock strike one o'clock, Shepherd has eventually collected a list of suspects, who he will begin interviewing the following day.


	4. Richard Webber, part two

**Don't worry… do you really think I'd couple Meredith and Richard Webber together… give me some credit…**

Detective Shepherd is once again at the house of Richard Webber. The door opens to reveal Mr Webber; only half dressed in black trousers and a white button down shirt. He beckons the detective into the parlour and tells him to make himself comfortable while he finishes dressing.

He returns a few minutes later and begins to babble about his relationship with Meredith Grey and the book he is writing in deference to her. Shepherd, however, seems quite disinterested and has pulled out a small hand-held pinball puzzle. His attention remains on trying to fill the four bases of the baseball diamond with the rolling balls as Webber slips on his overcoat and places a white carnation in his lapel. Shepherd eventually diverts his attention from the game and finds Webber ready to leave.

"Were you in love with Meredith, Mr Webber?" he asks. "Was she in love with you?"

Webber is coy and does not answer the detective's question directly. "Meredith considered me the wisest, the wittiest and the most interesting man she had ever met. And I was in complete accord with her there. She also thought me the kindest, the gentlest and the most sympathetic man in the world."

"And did you agree with her there, too?"

"Detective, you won't understand this. I tried to become the kindest, the gentlest and the most sympathetic man in the world."

"Any luck?"

"Well, let me put it this way," the man says callously as they exit the apartment, "I should be sincerely sorry to see my neighbour's children devoured by wild dogs."


	5. Addison Montgomery

The pair proceeds, by taxi, to the house of one of Shepherd's other suspects. Addison Montgomery, an upper-crust spinster and middle-aged society woman is Meredith Grey's aunt.

Shepherd recalls the woman's statement in the case file. She claims to have adored Meredith and the sergeant's report stated that she collapsed when she discovered the news of her niece's untimely death. Ms Montgomery was also the only family member that the Bureau was able to obtain; the whereabouts of Meredith's parents unknown, and therefore the flame-haired aunt had the honour of identifying the mutilated body of Meredith Grey.

Montgomery welcomes the pair into her opulent home, her smile fading as soon as she discovers that Shepherd is a detective. She puts on a sombre act, the melancholy she feigns obvious to even the most amateur detective. As the woman reels off what Shepherd presumes is a rehearsed speech, he looks around the room, and a large dresser decorated with framed photographs holds his attention.

The images are mostly of her, either on her own in portraits, or with others. The detective glances across the various pictures, one is of Ms Montgomery and Cary Grant he notes, another is of her and a similar-looking woman he presumes must be her sister or mother. However, it is not the handsome actor that captures his attention, but the familiar face of Mark Sloan in another of the photos. Mark Sloan, the man who was to marry Meredith Grey, seemed very comfortable with Ms Montgomery in the candid photograph.

"It was terrible," she explains. "Poor Meredith, her beautiful face was… well it was not very nice to look at, Mr Shepherd."

"I'm sure," offers the detective languidly. A maid enters the room, a tray balancing steadily in her hands. She places the tray on the table in front of the three adults, who are now sitting in the elegant living room, and begins pouring tea into three china cups. When she is done, Montgomery dismisses her and begins adding milk to her teacup. "So, Ms Montgomery, did you approve of Miss Grey's forthcoming marriage?"

For a moment, the woman appears slightly taken aback, but regains decorum, sips her tea and answers the detectives query with another question. "Is there a reason I shouldn't approve?"

"You tell me. What is your relationship with Mr Sloan?" he questions.

"What do you mean?" she asks innocently.

"What I mean is, he has been a frequent guest in your home. Is he an acquaintance, a friend? Are you in love with him?"

There is a short snort of laughter from Webber who now pulls out a notepad and pen in imitation of the detective. "This is a fabulous assumption," he mutters gleefully.

"Oh, shut up, Richard," she chides, before returning her attention to Shepherd. "What are you driving at?"

"The truth, Ms Montgomery,' the detective answers. "Are you in love with him?"

"No, of course not. I'm very fond of Mr Sloan, everyone is."

Once again, Webber scoffs, louder this time. "I'm not. I'd rather hang."

"Don't be so irritating, Richard," she says.

Shepherd ignores the banter between the two and continues his questioning. "Did you give Mr Carpenter money?"

"What do you mean?" she asks again, a slight tinge of pink flushing across her face as her lips tighten.

"A few cheques have gone through your account, endorsed by Mr Sloan," he states matter-of-factly.

"Oh that," she says with an embarrassed giggle. "I asked him to do some shopping for me. That's all."

"Old Sloan is such an obliging fellow, isn't he?" interjects Webber.

Shepherd continues, once more ignoring Mr Webber's comments. "Also, you've been withdrawing various amounts of cash for some time. Sometimes fifteen hundred, sometimes seventeen hundred at once."

"I was in need of the money," she justifies tersely.

"On the days you withdrew money, Mr Sloan deposited similar amounts."

"Maybe they were shooting craps," Webber quips.

Ms Montgomery places her teacup in the saucer harshly enough to cause a loud clink as china meets china. She sets the cup and saucer on the table and stands up brusquely. "I am insulted by your implications, Detective!" she declares. She turns and paces to the other side of the room, hands on hips. She then turns back to the two men. "Mark needed money, and I lent it to him. It is that simple. After all, it is my money. I suppose I can do with it as I please."

Eventually, she returns to her seat and Shepherd continues his questioning. He asks Montgomery to explain her whereabouts on the night of the murder. Her response is that she was home alone, because Mark had not invited her out to a concert as she had hoped.

It is at this moment that the booming voice of a man can be heard as he charms the maid in the foyer. The door to the room bursts open and in walks suave and handsome man. Mark Sloan. His boisterous manner wanes immediately when he realises that Ms Montgomery has company in the form of a homicide detective and a waspish columnist.


	6. Mark Sloan

"Oh, Addison, I didn't realise that you were entertaining. I do apologise for the intrusion," he says.

"That's alright," she responds. "This is Detective Shepherd, he's here about Meredith."

At the mention of his fiancée's name, Sloan's face sinks dramatically. His gait is more solemn as he walks over to the group and takes a seat next to his mistress. "Yes," he utters quietly, "I've hardly slept a wink since it happened."

Shepherd detects the staged grief as he did with Ms Montgomery, but again, he does not let on that he would find their theatrical performance slightly amusing if it were not so insulting. He presumes the pair thinks he might be dim-witted. However, he is far from stupid and allows them to keep up their façade, which ironically only incriminates them, further.

"Ah, but is that a sign of guilt or innocence, Mr Sloan?" pipes up Webber as though he can read the detective's mind.

"Why would I have anything to be guilty of, Mr Webber?" Sloan questions, irritated by the interfering writer.

"You tell me," he challenges. "You're the one who is looking more than a little flustered."

"Meredith and I were to marry next week," he states. "I loved her. Why would I have any reason to murder her?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," he responds blankly.

Shepherd takes over the questioning from here, which does not last too long. He invites Sloan to accompany he and Mr Webber to Meredith's townhouse later that evening. Shepherd himself has not visited the crime scene since Friday night, when he witnessed the removal of Miss Grey's body. The debonair agrees and with that, Shepherd and Webber make a move to leave.

"I neither like not trust that man," Webber retorts as they step onto the street and climb into a taxi.

"And why is that, Mr Webber?" the detective asks pointedly.

"I know cads like him, Shepherd. Not so long ago, I _was_ like him."

"Is that so," he says, unable to help the small grin that made its way across his face.

"Indeed it is. It is common knowledge that Ms Montgomery is his kept woman. Almost as common as the filthy whore he screws, Isobel Stevens."

"A whore you say?"

"Well no. She is a model at the agency Meredith worked for. He's had her on the side for a while now, so she must have a trick or two up her sleeve, if you know what I mean. Meredith, of course, was quite oblivious, blinded by what she thought was love."

"You didn't think to tell your best friend that her fiancé, the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with, was a womaniser and serial rogue?"

"Meredith was a free spirit. Even I could not tell her what to do," says Webber. "She was not stupid though, Mr Shepherd."

"I never doubted that she was."

"Meredith had definitely not made up her mind to marry him. She told me so herself on Friday, when she called to cancel our dinner engagement. In fact, she was going to her country house to think it over. She was such a kind person, but I was always sure that she would never have thrown her life away to become an ignorant trophy wife."

The taxi leaves Mr Webber outside of his apartment before continuing on to Shepherd's office, where the detective heads inside to collate his notes and eat his sandwich before the afternoon ahead.


	7. Return to the crime scene

Shepherd stands outside of Meredith's town house, which resides in the quiet suburb of Queen Anne Hill. He taps his foot impatiently and glances at his watch. Both of his suspects are late and tardiness is not something the detective appreciates. Finally, Webber arrives, followed shortly after by Sloan, who turns up casually as though unaware of his lack of punctuality.

The trio head up the steps towards Meredith's front door where Sloan promptly pulls out a key and lets them all inside. "Do you have a key to any other of Miss Grey's other properties, Mr Sloan?" Shepherd enquires.

"I did have a key to her country house," he answers, "but I'm afraid I lost it. Careless, I know."

Shepherd neither agrees nor disagrees with the statement and continues into the property. They gather in the first reception room, which Shepherd finds pleasantly welcoming. That is, except for the darkened stain on the rug a few feet away from them.

"And where were you on Friday night," the detective questions Sloan, remembering that he failed to receive the alibi of Meredith's fiancé when they were at Ms Montgomery's earlier in the day.

"I was at a concert," he replies simply. "With my mother and sister."

"At the Concert Hall?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I would have liked to have gone," Shepherd says, which of course is a lie. "What pieces were played?"

"There was Brahms' _First_," Sloan answers cordially, "a masterpiece in my opinion. And then later on, we heard Beethoven's _Ninth_."

Shepherd made a quick note of these, intending to later check the details, although he supposes that anyone could find out what pieces were played at the concert. The alibi isn't as solid as the detective would like and leaves Sloan in the firing line. He is still a suspect.

Basing his information on the graphic images in the case file, Shepherd proceeds to create a re-enactment of Meredith's murder using the two suspects to help him. At first, it seems a little callous to Webber and Sloan, to recreate the murder of a woman who was near and dear to each of them, but the detective hopes that this will offer him an insight into each of his suspects' emotions, possibly even revealing a hint of guilt.

"That's a rather scanty outfit she's wearing, wouldn't you agree?" Webber inquires as he looks at the police photographs of Meredith's body.

"When a dame gets killed, she doesn't worry about how she looks," Shepherd replies coldly. Of course, the detective is doing this on purpose to evoke a reaction from one or both of the men. The real question on Shepherd's mind is not how skimpy her dress was, but why in fact, she was wearing the outfit in the first place. Wasn't she supposed to be travelling to her country house that evening?

An hour later and the three men are still in Meredith's house. The chiming of the grandfather clock on the wall brings the antique to Shepherd's attention. Webber briefly mentions that the clock is identical to the antique that rests on the wall in his apartment, but Shepherd barely acknowledges this. His attention is drawn to the large painting that hangs over the fireplace. It is a portrait of Meredith herself. "Not bad," he comments coolly.

"Karev was in love with her when he painted that," Webber muses as he gazes longingly at the painting. "But he never captured her warmth, or her vibrancy," he adds to himself more than Shepherd, who is now fiddling with the phonograph console.

Shepherd plays the record that is already in the console, the sweet melody ringing out as Webber once more approaches him.

"Have you ever been in love, Mr Shepherd?" he asks.

"A doll in New York once got a mink out of me," Shepherd replies.

"Did you ever know a woman that wasn't a doll or a dame?"

"Once, but ultimately we wanted different things. She wanted commitment, a family; whereas I wanted my career and a simple way to relieve the stress of a long workday," he says honestly.

Webber accepts this and does not press the topic. "Would you mind turning that off now?"

"Do you not like it?" Shepherd asks.

"It was one of Meredith's favourites. Not exactly classical, but sweet enough."


	8. Ponderings of a detective

Back in his office, Shepherd lights up another cigarette and considers his suspects. For some reason, he cannot get Mark Sloan out of his thoughts. Nothing the man says adds up. The detective cannot verify the man's alibi; although the supposed spare key to Meredith's country house that was found in her home revealed recent fingerprints that belong to her fiancé.

After Sloan had left, Webber had spoken of his mistrust of Sloan to Shepherd, stating that he has 'private reasons, no doubt, to lie about the key'. The detective wonders whether Webber is correct and does not doubt that Mr Sloan is somewhat of a ladies man. However, he questions whether or not Webber is trying to further incriminate Mr Sloan in order to throw Shepherd off of his own scent.

Shepherd finds himself still intrigued by the columnist and radio broadcaster that seems to know so much about the victim. He finds it truly astounding that such a promising young woman would find solace in the company of an aged cynic.

He quickly finishes his work and heads out of the door, hailing a cab to a local seafood restaurant, where he has an engagement with Mr Webber. The man offered, and Shepherd accepted, using it as another excuse to extract information from him and gain insight into the truth behind the relationship he shared with Miss Grey.

Shepherd is pleasantly surprised by the revelations of the evening and as Mr Webber indulges in the wine, the detective finds that the suspect is more than willing to offer a detailed account of his relationship with Meredith Grey.


	9. Meeting Meredith Grey

Webber begins his recollection and Shepherd soon realises that their relationship was strong and that Webber had a deep love for Meredith, regardless of the almost 30 year age gap between the two. He presents Meredith as angelic, perfect and Shepherd wonders whether the real Meredith could measure up to this, should he have had the chance to meet her.

_She is young, no older than twenty. Her beauty is natural and simple, accentuated by the way her hair hung in soft curls around her delicate face. She is wearing a maroon double-breasted overcoat that is belted, showing off her slim waist. The hunger for success is evident in her emerald eyes._

_I am dining alone in the Alafair Hotel when she approaches me. She takes a seat at my table and begins to speak. She introduces herself as Meredith Grey. She is a designer at an advertising firm and has an ambitious and independent spirit. Meredith would love nothing more than for me, Richard Webber, to endorse a fountain pen that her agency is promoting. She informs me that her career depends upon my signature._

_At first, I am surprised. I do not take kindly to the interruption of my meal, nor do I care much for this stranger's career. I am also not interested in endorsing any fountain pen of hers, and my exact words to her are as follows: "Young woman, either you have been raised in some incredibly bucolic environment where good manners are not taught, or you suffer from the common feminine delusion that being a woman exempts you from the rules of civilised conduct. Or both," I add at the end, for effect. _

_She opens her mouth to retort, but I cut her off. "I don't use a pen. I write with a goose quill dipped in venom," I say. Her immaturity fails to allow her to understand the highbrow wit in which I speak to her. "I'll neither consider, endorse, or use the fountain pen. I hate pens. However, if your employers wish me to publish that statement in my column, then I would be much obliged."_

_Once more, she does not seem to quite grasp my humour and strings out a sentence or two wherein the word 'selfish' lies, aimed in my direction._

_Never one to have suffered with low self-esteem, I agree with her astute assessment of my character. "In my case, self-absorption is justified," I say arrogantly. "I have never discovered another subject quite so worthy of my attention."_

"_But you write about people with such understanding," she fires at me. "That is what makes your column so good, Mr Webber."_

"_Sentiment comes easily at 50 cents a word," I enlighten her. Her naivety is really quite charming. One day she will learn that world revolves around money, I think to myself._

"_If that is how you truly feel, you must be terribly lonely," she says, her green eyes focused upon me with intent._

"_Will you kindly continue your character analysis elsewhere?" I question indignantly. "You begin to bore me."_

_She looks at me with surprise. My acid tongue scares her a little, I think to myself. "You're a poor man. I am very sorry for you," she utters, before standing and leaving the hotel quickly._

Shepherd listens intently as Webber reminisces. "She had something about her though," he says after a momentary pause. "I had to speak to her again. I had to see her."


	10. Grooming Meredith Grey

Their meal is complete and Webber has just ordered coffee liqueur for them. Webber begins another of his stories, and this time he tells Shepherd how he tracked down Meredith, pausing the beginning of his memory as their drinks are served.

_I have a desperate need to see her again, and so I track her down to her place of employment – the Padgett and Co. advertising agency in downtown Seattle. With an air of self-importance, I make my way, unannounced of course, to her desk, which is located in the stenographic department. My name is well known and other young and hopeful career women in the office are somewhat surprised by my presence. I apologise for my rough treatment of her at the Alafair and offer my signature in the endorsement of her fountain pen._

"_I would like to point out that you caught me at a difficult moment. I am, however, not without a heart, and can produce x-ray pictures as evidence," I say. She giggles at my simple joke, but it is an infectious giggle, something to which you cannot but smile when you hear it. "Now, for reasons that are far too embarrassing to mention, I would very much like to endorse that pen of yours."_

_She accepts my apology and I sign the deal immediately. I then invite her to dinner to celebrate, which she agrees to._

"From that point, Meredith became my _protégé _if you will," he says. Shepherd is still listening as he picks up the chocolate mint that accompanied his coffee liqueur. "We became steadfast friends and she bestowed upon me the promotion of her burgeoning career, which began with my endorsement of the pen."

"Why did you feel the need to take her career into your own hands?" Shepherd asks, speaking for the first time in a while.

"I merely secured other endorsements on her behalf and introduced her to important clients. I gave her the start she needed, but it was her own talent and imagination that enabled her to climb to the top of her profession and stay there. Meredith always had an eager mind and she was always quick to seize anything that would improve her mind or her appearance."

"Her appearance?"

"Meredith had innate breeding; she was a natural beauty. But she allowed my judgment and taste to override that. I selected a more appropriate hairstyle for her. I taught her what clothes were more becoming of a woman such as herself. It was through me that Meredith made her contacts. She met everyone – the famous and the infamous. Her youth, her beauty, her poise and charm captivated them all. She had warmth and vitality, and authentic magnetism. Wherever she went, Meredith stood out. Men admired her. Women envied her."

"So Meredith became well known?"

"As well known as Richard Webber's white carnation," he states, a hint of pride in his voice.

The following morning, Derek Shepherd is sitting in his office. He squints his eyes together in a vain attempt to wake himself up a little more. He did not get much sleep the previous night as Richard Webber's voice resounded in his head, interrupting his slumber.

Shepherd cannot help but feel a little sick at how Webber took advantage of the young Meredith Grey. He is disgusted at how a Svengali-like Webber became Meredith's mentor, grooming her and ultimately taking credit for her sophistication, cultural development and top-level success. Webber moulded Meredith into a narrative portrait; he restyled her hair and chose her clothing for her. He preyed on her vulnerability, on her youth and innocence and what is worse, Shepherd thinks, is that Webber does not believe he did anything wrong.

He then analyses the relationship from Meredith's point of view. After tracing Meredith's family history, Shepherd discovers that Meredith's father is dead, and that her mother gave her up as an infant. He presumes Webber fulfilled a fatherly need for the impressionable young Meredith and therefore, they had a mutually satisfying relationship in all but one respect.

The detective recalls from the previous evening, that he asked Webber whether or not he and Meredith had a sexual relationship. Webber denied the accusation vehemently, insisting that their relationship was purely platonic. With the vast amount of alcohol he had consumed, Webber seemed to forget that he was a suspect in a murder case and that he was currently conversing with a detective.

"Meredith looked elsewhere for her sexual interests," Shepherd recalls him saying.

He does not doubt that Meredith saw Webber as anything more than a fatherly friend, but gets the impression that Webber feels threatened by any male that showed Meredith attention. Shepherd recalls Webber's possessive drunken babble:

"…_Then one Tuesday, she phoned and said she couldn't make it. But it happened again the following Friday. I couldn't understand it. I felt betrayed; Tuesday and Friday's were our night. And yet, I knew Meredith would never betray anyone. I went for a walk. I walked for a long time. I found myself outside of Meredith's house. The lights were on and it pleased me to know that she was at home. That is, until I saw that she was not alone. I waited to see who it was. It was Karev, who had recently painted her portrait. I had never liked the man. He was so obviously conscious of looking more like an athlete than an artist. I returned to my apartment and spent the rest of the night writing a column about him. I demolished him, exposed his camouflaged imitations of better painters, and ridiculed his theories. I did it for her, knowing that Karev was unworthy of her. Her portrait was a masterpiece because it was a labour of love. It didn't last. There were others, of course. Her own volition ruled them out before it became necessary for me to intervene, though."_

"…Necessary for me to intervene," mutters Shepherd as he recalls the final speech of Richard Webber before bidding him good night the previous evening.


End file.
